Kobukson: Turtle Ship
by HeartAke
Summary: Yunsung has returned from his failed quest to retrieve Soul Edge and now fights desperately in the loosing battle against the Japanese. Every thing he has ever thought worth fighting for has been destroyed, and the only thing left is his lie of a marriage
1. Fog of War

White Storm crashed against the tough leather armor, tearing at the stitching, and then penetrating. The heavy weapon moved through skin, ripping the insides of the body asunder. The samurai fell onto the blade; his dying mass rested against the hilt of the sword. His eyes trailed up the length of blade, and arm, that protruded from his guts. The samurai's vision began to blur, first seeing two, and then one. The image cleared for a single moment, and he could see clearly the outline of his superior.

White clothing drenched in blood, Yunsung locked his eyes with those of the samurai. The expression of fear, and of hatred, the resonated from the warrior's fading eyes unsettled even him, and Yunsung jerked his sword upwards to end the cold, penetrating gaze.

The Samurai feel deeper onto the sword. Then, in a mad act of defiance, jerked his head upward with sword raised, but only served to tear open his own wound, and have what remained of his blood spill out across the battle field.

Yunsung let the dying man roll off the edge of his sword, and then with a strained nervous laugh kicked the body aside, and let it gather amongst the remains of the fallen.

Yunsung raised White Storm to the ready position. Beside him two Korean warriors emerged from the fog, their spears brandished against the onslaught of progressing samurai. A wave of Japanese moved forwards, perhaps five, perhaps more, impossible to tell in the fog.

The two Koreans raced towards them, and drove their spear points into the encroaching formation, but were soon after cut down by Japanese swords. The formation then quickly dissipated as each individual warrior moved out into the mist to pursue the scattered Korean forces.

The fog suddenly fell thicker on the field, so thick that not a single thing could be seen in any direction, and the countless screams of anguish seemed to come from everywhere about Yunsung.

On all sides three samurai quickly emerged into sight, their swords brandished to strike. Yunsung now found himself inside a small pocked of the enemy advance, as his countrymen continually fell backwards.

White Storm flew against them in a series of quick motions, and the three samurai fell to their knees, their heads rolling off their shoulders. Four more soldiers stepped out of fog, to take up ranks for those that had fallen. Yunsung stepped backwards as the mass of samurai opposing him continued to swell; their collective arms raised to strike against him.

"You psycho bastards would probably kill yourselves if you were in my position, but I'm Korean, and we don't go down without a fight!" Yunsung voiced with as much bravado as he could muster.

The Japanese charged.

"Shit!" Yunsung hollered as his sword dropped low to deflect a series of spear points from piercing his abdomen, while he somersaulted backwards over the heads of the samurai. The Japanese instantly turned on the heels of their feet to face him again.

Yunsung slowly moved away from them, and into the fog. The samurai advanced forwards with his every step, their swords raised. The Japanese moved to circle him again, their bodies forming a wall around him.

Yunsung held his sword ready at his side. The samurai moved closer, the circle tightening around him like a noose, the heavy fog like a heaped blanket. His nerve began to break. A thick drop of sweat fell down from his blood crusted hair and struck the dirt and mud over his face. The samurai lunged at him.

He leapt backwards. The edges' of the samurai swords slashed through the air, moving only a hair's width from Yunsung's throat.

He had become exhausted. An entire morning of bitter fighting under the harsh cold had drained his energy, and left him gasping to draw in the icy air. The samurai moved closer again, their swords raised in unison to strike.

A war cry echoed from somewhere in the fog, and in the distraction Yunsung slit open the underbellies of those closest to him, before he dashed back out of range of the enemies vengeful blades.

The war cry was heard again, and at that instant hundreds of samurai raced backwards through the hearts of their ranks, trampling their countrymen in the midst of their mad route. Yunsung looked back at the warriors that had only instants before been pressing him against the very brink of death, and saw them consumed within the onrush of fleeing soldiers.

Yunsung readied his sword as a heavy trampling sound echoed through the thick mist. His eyes began to focus on the hundreds of armored fighters that raced like startled sheep through the endless fog. Then, behind him, hundreds of spear points began to emerge from the cloak of white.

Forms now began to materialize from behind the spears. Korean soldiers, hundreds of them, each more exhausted than the last, but their valor strengthened by a collective furor. The Chosen army charged forth behind the fleeing Japanese.

Friendly warriors moved to either side of him, and Yunsung found himself in the heart of the Korean advance, his weakened body finding strength in the rage of those around him. The terrain ahead suddenly made a sharp incline, and the many Japanese that found themselves too drained of strength to climb the opposing hill were quickly cut down by Korean steel, and soon after trampled under the boots of the progressing line.

The mist ahead was thicker over the top of the slope, and only the kicked up mud from the soles of the samurai's sandals lingered in view of the Korean advance. Legs, arms, and other such Japanese limbs moved fiercely through the fog, each leather-strapped body racing to flee the encroaching furry.

Then, from the very peak of the hill an opposing wall of soldiers seemed to suddenly appear. Countless samurai stood with their weapons drawn to meet the Korean army.

Injured, and exhausted from hours of fighting, the Korean force charged against the fresh troops of the Japanese. As if they had thrown themselves onto the spears of the enemy, the Koreans were slaughtered, like cattle, under the sudden force of samurai steel.

The fog and the queer angle of the incline seemed to encourage the mass extinction of the valiant Korean fighting men. Those whom had been in the back rows were entirely unable to see the slaughter ahead, and pushed with ever greater furry to pursue an enemy they assumed in route. Those in the front rows found themselves squeezed between the wall of their friends coming up from behind, and the wall of the enemy coming in from in front, and they were thus, unable to find refuge in either direction, quickly, and mercilessly impaled upon.

Yunsung fought with renewed vigor as he too was shoved against the full force of the Japanese. White Storm crashed against the onslaught of samurai, and tore into tough armor. The sword hung transfixed within the air, and amongst the bloodshed, only to come down in a decisive, and clean stroke against the enemies' vital points.

But no matter how ferociously Yunsung fought, the Korean army was being slaughtered all around him. Men fell to their knees; their insides cradled like precious children inside their arms.

All around him the eyes of every warrior had sunken into their respective sockets. Those fighting, including him, had lost all sense of what was real. These were the men that were dying, or had already considered themselves dead.

And those that teetered most dangerously upon the brink between the world of the living, and the world of the dead, fought as if possessed by some sort of sadistic demon, urging them, willing them to take that final plunge into the outreached arms of hell; and to take as many men as possible with them.

White Storm ripped through the innards of another soldier, and the young man attached to its hilt, his body panting with each heavily strained breath, seemed to fall backwards under the weight of his own exhaustion. The Korean army, far too tired, and far too overwhelmed by loss of life, had begun to race back down the hill now. Only Yunsung, and a few others, remained to challenge the entirely unshaken Japanese formation.

There was no point in fighting now. Fighting would only bring death, and serve no greater good. Yunsung knew this; and yet, he continued to stand, as if fastened to the ground upon which he had fought so hard to claim. The Japanese began to approach with ever greater determination now, arrows flying from their bows to strike down those that sought refuge in the fog.

Yunsung felt himself grow heavy under the mass of blood cloaked to his clothes and skin, and from the thought of more fighting. He turned his head and looked down onto what trace amounts of the Korean force could be seen scattered and routed amounts the fog; as arrows screamed about his face and limbs.

Those that had stood defiant beside him had been slain now, their bodies left to roll, impaled and lacerated down the steep incline into the collection of dead bellow. Yunsung stepped backwards towards the edge of the hill, his sunken eyes piercing of malice into the souls of the soldiers that moved against him.

Then, as if even the blood luster of that morning couldn't take away his youth and arrogance, Yunsung let a wide, daring smirk grow across his face, before he too, turned and ran down the slope – to disappear into the mist.


	2. Will you be my savior?

Author's notes: I apologize for the long period of time between updates (which is especially strange considering this chapter has been in my hard drive for months now), I guess that time has a way of passing without me noticing.

Chapter 2

The sun had begun to set over the western sky as his blood crusted form stepped between the pillars leading into the dojo complex. The sword hung limp in his hands; the steel so utterly stained in blood that only trace remnants of its former luster could be seen reflecting off the fading sun. He walked with careful vigilance through the mostly empty streets, each highly exerted step threatening to give way under the weight of his body, and send his tired mass crumbling to the ground.

Children playing outside of their homes suddenly stopped to stare at him as he dragged himself forwards. Whether it was because of the mask of spilt human remains that coated the length of his body, or because of their own young age, the children could not recognize the one that they had all looked up to in admiration. Even his sword, a symbol of pride for all those that lived inside of the dojo, was indistinguishable from that of any other.

And then the stench struck them. The putrid, horrific smell of decaying flesh and human excrement that clung to his skin moved freely through the air, tainting their senses and sending them scurrying towards home, their hands clasped over their nostrils.

He slowly walked onto the softwood steps that lead into the main barracks and training room. He stood parallel to the door, and raised his hand to rap against the heavy oaken frame, and then, without striking, he withdrew his hand. For countless moments he stood in front of the entrance, moving neither to, nor from, but somewhere in between, trapped in indecision. Then, finally, he raised his arm again, and nudged open the door. As the hinges gently swayed, the framework let out an oppressive squeak that echoed through the dojo.

Soft footsteps rang out from the far corner of the temple, and the comely form of a young woman walked out from the adjacent room. An insipid gray dress hung over her shoulders and stretched down over her feet, covering her from the neck down. Her long brown hair fell over her face and upper body, the unfastened strands casting shadows over her eyes and cheeks, obscuring the image and making her seem homely, and frightful.

She stepped forwards, her eyes questioning, and shocked by the grotesque appearance of the man standing at her doorway. His face was utterly masked by caked sweat, blood and dirt. The edges around his eyes formed small pools of filth, and the eyes themselves had sunken into his skull from terror and exhaustion; seeing and yet not seeing; always starring into nothingness.

"Yunsung?" she whispered unsure of herself.

He moved towards her, and she retreated. He looked so much unlike the man that she remembered, and although she knew that it was in fact Yunsung, she could not find it in herself to embrace the recollection.

"Another glorious defeat for the Chosen," his tired, raspy voice echoed, as his feet began to give way underneath him, and he started to fall forwards. Without even knowing it herself, Mina raced towards him, and grasped his collapsing form in her arms. The crusted blood against his skin broke upon the slightest touch, and the hard red mass mixed with dried sweat, and reopened wounds, to flake, and slime against her neck and breast.

She slowly lowered him onto the ground, and gently released him from her embrace. His body rested against the hard floor of the dojo, and for a single instant he seemed to smile, before he drifted into sleep.

Mina stroked the edge of her finger along the line between the skin of his forehead, and his stiff, crusted hair. That was the only place it seemed, that the mask of blood had not encased.

Mina rose from her kneeling position beside Yunsung, and quickly walked out of the room. A few short moments later she returned with a pail of water hanging from her hand, and a heavy blanket suspended across her shoulder.

She walked towards him, and slowly, mechanically, began to remove his clothing. The mass of dismembered flesh and blood that had stained his uniform begun to cling to his body like a second skin, and she found that she had to apply great pressure to peel back the layers.

The heavy moisture of his clothing had left his skin saturated, pale, and wrinkled. Long streaks of filth had formed across his joints and abdomen, while a revolting yellow puss had begun to work its way into the many lacerations across his body. This was not the same Yunsung that she remembered. She could not bring herself to think of him as such.

She drenched the small rag in her hand into the pail, and then carefully ran the cloth across Yunsung's naked body. The filth slowly gave way in long wet streaks of bright red, brown, and black. With each stroke of her hand, the Yunsung she once knew began to come back to her.

By the time that she finished, the afternoon sun had completely set. She looked over his sleeping form in the candlelight, and for the first time, he truly looked like the Yunsung she remembered.

He had changed somewhat though. His muscles were larger now, and more pronounced. His thighs, calves, and triceps seemed to bulge beyond the confines of his bone structure. His wrists had gotten thicker, and even his breathing seemed to have gotten cleaner. And yet, she could somehow sense the tension that flowed through his nervous, strained sleep. Countless fighting had strengthened his body, but shattered his mind.

Yunsung was far too heavy for her to lift to a more appropriate sleeping place, so Mina simply lowered the blanket over his body, and let him rest where he lay. The ground about him was soaked with the bloodied water she had used to wash him, and everything was wet. The edges of the blanket she laid on him only moments before had begun to darken from the liquid, and she could see Yunsung shiver in his sleep.

A gentle rapping struck the door, and Mina shifted her head to watch as her father walked in from outside. Han Myong stood still as he looked onto the man resting against the floor. "I see that Yunsung has returned," he finally said.

"Yes," Mina answered in a low voice.

Han Myong slowly paced across the room towards his daughter. She sat with her legs curled on the floor beside Yunsung, and with her head lowered. He took careful notice of the way that her eyes refused to meet his, and this act of reverence and timidity startled him slightly. Such mannerisms were unlike her bold and aggressive nature.

"You love him don't you?"

Her father's words shot through her like an arrow, and yet she continued to sit unflinching. With her eyes forever locked on Yunsung's sleeping form, she responded with a tone somewhere between clandestine loneliness, and a sort of self-mockery. "What does it matter. He does not think of me as a real woman, only as a close childhood friend, or big sister."

"Perhaps it is that you allow him to think of you as such?" he responded, grasping at what wisdom he could muster.

"What are you trying to say?" Mina said through half gritted teeth, and with sharp, piercing intent.

"Only that a man expects women to act a certain way…"

"So you say that he can only love me if I am someone else," Mina interrupted.

"I meant nothing so harsh," he said. "It is just that you are strong willed. You are… far more like myself… than like your mother. I blame myself for that. When your mother passed away I was left with you, and with no knowledge of how to raise a daughter. I tried my best, but I guess it was beyond my control that you should act more like your raising, then like your fate-determined gender.

"I fear that even though they are not womanly qualities, I may have inadvertently taught you your pride, your hard will, your determination, and your strength. I should wonder if that has meant a harder destiny for you, being what you are.

"Yes, in many ways you are like a son, and yet, in other ways, you are very much a woman. Do not blame Yunsung for being confused."

Mina lowered her head again. The fire had died from her eyes, and she gazed with steady clarity towards the shadows Yunsung's body cast against the candlelight.

Han Myong's focus shifted to the blood-crusted sword that lay on the floor next to Yunsung, and he seemed to smile in a manner unwarranted of the situation. "White Storm has seen much bloodshed these past few months," he said. "It was never meant to be the tool of a massacre – and yet, there is no one more deserving of its strength than Yunsung."

"Time has fused them into one. White Storm, Yunsung, you cannot think of them separately," Mina responded.

"The truth remains that it does not belong to him. White Storm is a Seung family treasure…"

"You cannot mean that you wish to take it away from Yunsung," Mina spoke in resent.

Han Myong laughed slightly, as if something Mina had said amused him, and he couldn't help but let a wide grin spread across his face. "It is just that White Storm is only meant to be passed down through our family… now, if Yunsung were to become part of the family…"

"You cannot mean…"

The smile across Han Myong's face grew wider, and his eyes shone of love, as well as with devious, clever, pride.

Mina's eyes narrowed, and she stood up to gaze sternly at her father. "I don't want him to marry me for any reason other than his own love!" she said.

Han Myong's focus trailed off, and for a short while he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, and ignorant of his daughters rage. Then he spoke, softer, and with more careful thought than was customary of him. "Have I ever told you of how I met your mother?" he asked.

Mina seemed startled by the question, and by the gentle character of his words, and she lowered her own aggression to match his gentle state. "Mother told me that you were close as children, and then when you met later in life you fell in love."

A smirk grew across Han Myong's lips, and he laughed out loud. "That is true – but it is not everything. I did know your mother when we were children, but I did not meet her again until after we were scheduled to be married. Our two families had been at each other's throats for years. As a gesture of peace, I was arranged to be married to your mother. As you can probably imagine, I was infuriated when I found out that such a decision had been made without my knowledge.

"The thing was though, that I was madly in love with another woman. She was witty, sharp tongued, sexy, and full of energy – all the things that your mother was not. I was so angry at my family that for three years after the marriage, I could only think about what I had lost, and about how much I hated and despised your mother," he laughed lightly, finding amusement in his own words. Then he seemed to become more solemn, and trail off into a separate line of though. "It saddens me sometime to think that because of my own youth and stupidity, I lost those three years.

"The point is that I grew to love her. Those little things that she did would absolutely enrage me at first, but eventually I saw them as something unique and characteristic of her. What you said before about Yunsung and White Storm is true for people as well. If you spend enough time together, you fuse to become like one. That is the truest form of love. I wouldn't give the few good years I had with your mother for anything."

Mina went silent, and for a short while seemed to struggle with herself. Her eyes trailed off into the darkness, and she began to move her mouth as if ready to speak, but then Yunsung's closed eyes twitched, and she stopped.

His eyes rolled from side to side underneath their closed lids, and he smiled of pleasant dreams. She couldn't help but smile as well, and his peaceful slumber inspired a quick response of her tongue. "Do what you have to," she said.

Han Myong grinned as he leaned over and picked the bloodied sword off the ground, then turned and left Mina standing over Yunsung.


	3. Illusions in Shadows

Seung Mina spent the next four hours at Yunsung's side. She did not waver, or move about in complaint of boredom as she often would without excitement, but sat watching him intently.

She would often let her mind trail off into thoughts that would have otherwise destroyed her. Thoughts of marriage, of children, of Yunsung. She had planned out her entire life in those four hours.

Yunsung would rise through the ranks of the army, and be granted a large homestead by the emperor once Japan had been defeated. They would live contently with a vast farm to the east of their home, and a small town to the west. She would grow herbs and spices to the south, and a great expanse of forest would stretch out to the north.

Every night Yunsung would return from the fields, sweat dripping off his crimson hair, and make love to her in the heat of the summer. She could taste his kisses on her lips, and she could feel his arms around her, embracing her.

They would have children, two boys at first, maybe more later. The older one would have soft brown hair like her own, and would be content to work on the farm in his youth, and to study the ways of Confucius. He would eventually move into government, and being gentle and wise, would bring peace and prosperity to the whole world.

The younger one would have bright red hair like his father, and like his father, he would always be consumed with thoughts of adventure. In his youth he would constantly be getting in trouble with the local girls, and of course by extension their fathers.

As he grew older he would begin to feel trapped in the small town atmosphere, and would think of the great journeys beyond his front door. One day he would leave home in search of the legendary Soul Edge, as his parents had. He may find it, he may not; it didn't really matter. What was important was that he would return home with his fill of adventure and with a beautiful young wife at his side.

Yunsung and herself would grow old together in those peaceful days, and they would never fall out of love. His hair may gray, and her waist may widen slightly, but the ravages of age would never effect either of them. They would remain healthy and strong until their grandchildren had grown and married, and they decided that they had lived to experience everything they ever wanted.

She would die first, because she didn't want to think of life without him. He would not linger long after though, and his broken heart would lead him back to her in the next life.

Yunsung twitched violently in his sleep, and Mina became painfully aware that they were not yet dead, and in fact very much alive. He rolled sharply, as if fighting the invisible enemies in his memory, and Mina realized that he was still very much his own man, and not yet hers. Even if he somehow grew to love her as Han Myong had her mother, she still faced the prospect of him resenting her in the short term.

"Can I do this to you?" she whispered under her breath. "Is it right for me to trick you into loving me?"

A gentle rapping struck the door, and Seung Mina sharply turned her head as the family servant entered in from outside. Kim Sun stood with her head hung low, and with her eyes piercing the floor in submission. Her long black heir fell softly over her shoulders, covering the simple white robes that hung freely over her body. The small candle she carried in her left hand illuminated her face slightly, and revealed the non-emotional expression that she always seemed to wear across her cheeks.

"Have you finished cleaning White Storm?" Seung Mina asked with little regard.

"Yes," she responded. "But, Seung Han Myong instructed me not to return it to Yunsung just yet, I … do not know why."

"I'm sure that it is nothing," Seung Mina said in an attempt to dismiss her servant.

"You are probably right," Sun agreed as she lifted the candle in her hand, and let it rest against the weapons rack upon the wall. "Your father sent me to see that you get some rest," she said after some time.

"I will not leave Yunsung," Mina responded, quick and determined. "I want to be the first thing that he sees when he awakes, I… I want him to know that I care."

Kim Sun stood disciplined. "It is important you get some rest," she said firm and unwavering despite authority. "I will wake you at sunrise if you wish. It is unlikely that he will awaken soon anyway."

Sung Mina was standing now, taken aback by the brash comments of her docile servant. Rebellion began to rise like fire in her, however the instant she parted her mouth to speak, a wide yawn escaped her. Flushed with embarrassment, Mina covered her mouth with her hands and sheepishly averted her eyes from those of her servant.

"Please wake me if he even so much as stirs," Mina said with determination as she passively, and reluctantly, left the dojo; and stepped out into the chilled night air to return home.

The heavy wooden door squealed shut behind Seung Mina, and Kim Sun stood alone over Yunsung's sleeping form.

His body shifted slightly, and the heavy blanket parted revealing much of his chest and back to the open air. Kim Sun studied the lines and muscles of his flesh with great detail, and smiled to herself as she did so.

A great longing swept over her, and her heart raced with lust. He looked so strong despite his injuries, and legend of his battles spread quickly through such a small community. He was after all, the hero of the dojo, and she wanted him. Seung Mina could be damned.

The edge of her index finger trailed up the length of his chest, and her fingers dug softly into the line below his breast. Her other hand parted his ebony red hair from his forehead, and she leant over him. This was her chance to kiss him, and she would take that chance. Slowly, softly, she lowered herself over him, and pressed her lips against his.

He struggled at first, confused in his unconscious state. But then he stopped shifting about, and let his lips move as if by their own. His eyes shifted from side to side underneath his closed lids, and he seemed to perspire somewhat.

Kim Sun removed her lips from his, the taste of his kiss fresh, and sweet in her mouth. He resisted, and moved his lips about, tasting the air for her. His closed eyes moved with more ferocity, and he twisted from side to side; consumed in dreams. "Mina," he said softly before shifting over against his back, and falling deeper into sleep.

Kim Sun sat up in a huff, and crossed her arms in her lap. "You jackass!" she said with firm focus. "So you do care for Seung Mina. It doesn't matter though. That brat isn't worthy of you," she said as if consumed within an ego that should not exist. "One does not work her way out of the streets without being crafty," she said with a gleam of arrogance rivaled only by Yunsung himself. "You will be mine yet, and I will get you to make my every dream come true."

Yunsung awoke to a sudden startle. His eyes shot open, and his hand instantly shot for the place by his side that he kept his sword. The nonexistence of that most primal comfort caused him to at once rise from his sleeping position.

The blanket that had covered his body fell to his ankles, and Yunsung stood agitated, and frightened, in his nakedness.

Kim Sun buried her face in her hands, and tried not to look directly at him. She was suddenly much more aware of herself now that he was conscious.

Trying to save her decency more than any sense of self-awareness, Yunsung lifted the blanket to cover himself. "Where is White Storm?" he asked with force and urgency.

"My master Seung Han Myong has taken it back into his possession for cleaning," she responded in her normal servile manner.

"Seung Han Myong you say?"

"Yes."

"I guess that is his right," Yunsung commented to himself as he lowered his head somewhat in the darkness and began to think. "It was foolish of me to think that he would never ask for it back."

"I am certain that he has no intention of keeping it. You are Yunsung, the hero of this temple. There is no one more deserving of such a blade, Master Seung must realize that," Kim Sun said as she shifted closer to him, and let her cheeks begin to flush a fine cherry red. "You are Yunsung, and you can have anything you want," she asserted, seductively and tactfully including herself.

"You are kind to say so," Yunsung mentioned, seemingly oblivious to her advances. "But I cannot shake the thought that he intends to keep it. White Storm is after all a Seung Family heirloom. It is almost morning. I will speak to him about it then."

"And would you like to dress before then. I am certain that an attractive man such as yourself would cause quite a stir amongst the female population should you patrol into daylight as you are."

Yunsung's face flushed slightly as he noticed the blanked hanging over his body, and he relaxed a somewhat adolescent laugh. "You may be right."

"Let me get you some clothes. I believe Seung Mina left a set of your white robes in the other room." And with that she rose from her kneeling position, and walked into the adjacent room. After a few short moments she returned with a bundle of clothing in her arms. Yunsung quickly dressed himself, as he tried to ignore Kim Sun staring intently at him as he did so.

"In my first unit we used to have a soldier that always stared at people while they were changing," Yunsung joked. "Were we ever relieved when he got the run through from a samurai spear… although some of the boys argued that he wanted to have a shaft driven into his pelvis," Yunsung laughed.

Kim Sun could never remember a time when he had indulged in such gross, hurtful humor, and it caught her by surprise to see his eyes water and tear in laughter upon the recollection of something so violent. It seemed that war had changed him somewhat, took away part of that blissful ignorance that characterized him so much. He had become the part of a warrior, and not the other way around as local legend had predicted.

"You have become stronger," she mentioned as she tilted her head, and stared into his swelling red eyes. "You are no longer the brash young child you once were. You have truly become a man," she said as she rested her hand against his shoulder and gently massaged the bridge of his collarbone.

He pulled away, and seemed to become disgusted with her, but more so with himself. "Nothing has changed," he affirmed. "I can tell how you are looking at me now. You admire me for being strong, ruthless and violent. You admire my prowess in war, and that is exactly what I am trying to defend us against. The Japanese lust for war, and that is what I am protecting us from. I am not like them!" he screamed as his laughter instantly shifted to weeping and tears rolled down his cheeks. He collapsed to his knees, and his head fell into his hands. "I am not like them!" he screamed, letting out the violence, and the rage, and the months of tension that had built against his nerves. "I am not a monster!"

She moved to embrace him, and let her arms fall around his shoulders, and pulled him close to her breast. He did not struggle, his fragile emotions had snapped, and he could not find the resistance to refuse her comfort. "You do not have to be strong around me," she said. "I know that you are protecting us. I know that you fight every day to keep us safe. Just… just let me help you in your fight."

Kim Sun pressed her fingers against the back of his neck, and on command his head rose from her chest, and his eyes gazed into hers. She brought him closer into herself, and let her lips rest against his.

"This doesn't feel right," he whispered under his breath, as if some small piece of him wanted to fight against her, and refuse her; but that piece could not find the strength to resist. He was so tired of fighting.

"You don't have to say anything. I am here to take care of you now."

His face twitched in defiance, but her arms tightened around him, and he let his body fall limp inside of her. "It's good to be taken care of," he whispered, as he lay motionless in her arms.

"I understand," she said as she brushed the edges of her fingers through his fresh, clean hair. "I understand what it means to be afraid, and yet brave. I know what it's like to be so very strong, and yet underneath so terribly weak. You don't have to explain anything to me, I already understand."

The tips of her fingers pressed into the heavy muscles at the back of his shoulders, and she gently massaged them as he hung transfixed within her embrace. Her hands ran across the breadth of his neck, and through his hair, and again, she kissed him. This time he made no motion to refuse. Her lips traced the length of his, and despite the pain, and the hardship, he became excited. Only a statue of earth and clay would have been unaffected in the face of her passion; but Yunsung was no statue, and he found himself kissing her back.

At that moment, as the two figures rolled within each other about the hard wooden floor, a sleepy eyed woman slowly pushed open the heavy door of the temple. Her plain green dress had been replaced with her more familiar red attire, and her soft brown hair had been tied behind her.

The rising morning sun broke through the open door, and like the accusing finger of truth it struck through the darkness and rested upon Yunsung and Kim Sun. His eyes blinked like one unaccustomed to the light, and he was unable to distinguish the blotchy and spotted form that stood against the confines of his vision.

Seung Mina's eyes swelled as she twisted her face back into the direction of the sun, and raced away from the temple, her silver tears falling in clear waves against her cheeks. The moment descended into silence as the soft tapping of her feet broke in the distance, and Yunsung lay confused, and awed; with Kim Sun still suspended in his arms.

His lips broke from her, and his mind raced into the realm of reality. The translucent seduction Kim Sun had entwined around his heart was broken by the sudden impact on his senses, and he rose to his feet; shamed by the light. "Seung Mina," he hollered as perception fell upon him, and he found himself moving at great haste away from the temple, and towards the figure that had stood at the gate only a moment before.

Starring with wide speculative eyes as Yunsung fled from her embrace, Kim Sun couldn't help but laugh under her breath, as she stepped back into the darkness of the temple.


End file.
